The Perfect Mister Potter is indeed Not Perfect
by alreadyinuse
Summary: No excuses for this story either. Naughty words and naughty things almost alluded to. Harry has a small surprise for Draco.


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For eldnia: because... uhm. Saying because I love you seems so very unrealistic just now. ;) Love you.

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"Oh come on Potter, don't be such a pansy," Draco whispered irritably, his voice echoing off the damp brick walls in such a loud way Harry was certain Draco _wanted_ to be caught. And fired. And hung from his toenails on the front page of the Daily Prophet. 

"I do hope that wasn't a play on words Draco," he shot back, feeble but unable to allow the jab to pass without reply.

Startled, Draco dropped Harry's hand and spun around. "A play on words? What?" He stared at the other man blankly for a moment, trying his best to wrap his brain around Harry's illogical statement (for really, one couldn't call what Harry did _thinking. _ It wasn't as though Draco loved Harry for his brains, you understand). Several minutes passed, and as Harry's exasperation grew, Draco finally worked it out. "You think I fucked Pansy?"

Harry shrugged. "It's possible, isn't it?"

A feral smile lit Draco's pale features, as Draco never was one to let an opportunity pass, naturally. "I do like you jealous," he whispered, closing the distance between them; his closeness leaving Harry little doubt just how much Draco _did _like it. Harry swallowed hard, his face ashy in the darkly lit passageway.

Draco pulled up when he noticed his partner's lack of enthusiasm. "Second thoughts, Potter?" he sneered, trying to cover his hurt and failing miserably, his arms draped across his chest and his stance screaming 'I'm going to leave now unless you think you're going to leave first and then I'll really make you sorry!'

"No! No, of course not Draco," Harry said, accenting by shaking his head roughly. "It's just… well, there's a little bit of a problem…"

Mollified, Draco dropped his hands and leaned back into the other man. "I hope _that _wasn't a play on words Harry," he whispered, moving his hand lower on Harry's body.

If possible, Harry paled further. "Not at all Draco. I'd just prefer to be somewhere private instead of standing in the entry way to the Slytherin common room. It would be bad enough for a student to catch two teachers going at it, but if…" he shuddered, unwilling to finish the sentence.

Draco reluctantly dropped his hand from the waistband of Harry's pants and stepped back again. "Fine, you prude. We're almost to there anyway, and would have been there already had you not stopped me with your ridiculous question about Pansy."

Harry made no reply, and Draco grabbed his hand and tugged him through the portrait, around the corner, and into the private Prefect's room without incident. Once inside, Draco wasted no time in removing his shoes and socks before working on removing robes. Harry, however, made no such motions. "Now what is the matter, Harry?"

"It's cold in here," Harry mumbled.

"Cold?" Draco parroted before shrugging. "Come here and I'll warm you up."

Slowly, still pale and uncertain, Harry moved forward to where Draco sat on the bed. Stopping an arm's length away, he stood and stared at the floor in between them.

"Harry," Draco began, trying very hard to be patient and failing fast. "I realise you're … new at this, and I'm trying to be understanding, really. But it's a little hard, you see, to shove your cock in my arse such as I want you do to me while you are still fully clothed!"

Shocked, Harry's eyes flew to Draco's face as his mouth fell slightly open. Something instead him snapped then – perhaps it was Draco's vulgar statement, or the fact he was being so very un-Draco like in his patience.

Whatever the reason, Draco's heart or his cock, Harry growled and made quick haste in removing his robes first, followed by his shirt, both tossed carelessly to the floor. Before he could lose his nerve, he unzipped and lowered his trousers, stopping only when they became stuck on his shoes. Draco sighed as he watched, but didn't speak. Harry unsnarled himself after only a moment of uncertain balance, stepping on Draco's foot once in the process.

Draco reached out and steadied Harry by the waist, pulling Harry on top of his lap as he did so. "See, Potter? This is much, much better," he whispered, his fingers dancing around the waistband of Harry's boxer shorts.

Harry forgot his reservations, his inhibitions, and even his own name as Draco's tongue worked in circles on his neck, his hand trailing lazy paths on Harry's stomach. All Harry knew is he wanted Draco to do… well, what, exactly, he wasn't certain, but he knew this wasn't enough.

Harry moaned softly, and Draco smirked victoriously at the sound. "You want more, don't you Harry?" he whispered softly, his hands both moving lower, his mouth ghosting along Harry's chest. "You want me and you want this," he continued as he ran his finger tips around the elastic band once more before splaying out on Harry's stomach and sneaking lower.

Then, there was silence.

A long moment of silence.

A long moment of silence that could only be described as a solemn moment of silence, where one thinks of the fallen, or prays for deliverance from embarrassing moments, or pines for What Could Have Been.

He swallowed over the sudden lump in his throat when Harry crossed his arms over his chest.

"I told you it was cold in here," Harry mumbled.

Draco smiled then, his features benevolent. It was nice, in a way, to know that the Perfect Mister Potter was not Perfect, after all. "It's fine Harry. I'll top."


End file.
